Let Me Help
by Shadowdib
Summary: A woman in town decides to visit the strange scientist in the woods, and kinds a kindred spirit. Give Ford a Hug 2k17 (or rather Give Ford a Hug 1982)
1. First Impressions

A/N: This is a story that I wrote entirely to give 80's Ford a hug but almost 5,000 words of hugless plot later I regret everything. I have three chapters written and I'm working on the fourth.

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Gravity Falls in the winter is kind of peaceful.

Well, it's a small town in the middle of nowheresville, Oregon- of course it's going to be quiet. There's the occasional gnome attack, but you'd gotten used to them and the other various supernatural creatures ages ago. You'd grown up here, after all.

However, one thing was new this year- the mysterious scientist who lived in the woods. Not Fiddleford, he came into town often and was happy to chat with people, everyone knew him by now. He had an accent, he had helped Susan fix the broken oven in the diner, and he had fun stories about his farm when he was a kid.

No, his partner was the mystery. S… S something. Stanley? Samuel? Whatever it was, he only ever appeared to buy supplies then sweep back to his backwoods cabin out on Gopher Road. He wore a trench coat. You'd seen him approximately three times. Once in the diner, ordering coffee, once at the hardware store buying a blowtorch, and once in the middle of the woods with a net, chasing after pixies.

It didn't tell you much besides the fact he hadn't figured out that the pixies would come to you if you had honey.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea, but you hadn't always had the best ideas, you'd run out of books to read, and something in you itched for an adventure, but you found yourself traipsing through the December snow to that creaky house that already looked old at the end of the road. Fiddleford had always been so kind, and you'd always liked talking to the shy ones in class. S-whatever probably was the same. He didn't seem much older than you, after all. Maybe he just needed a friend.

…Those barrels out front probably were full of some kind of science goo. This was Gravity Falls, not some place that would end up on the news because somebody had toxic waste.

The floorboards of the porch creaked under your winter boots, and you knocked on the door twice. Snow plopped off the roof and unto the ground, crushing a solitary weed that had squirmed up through the frost. Footsteps clomped towards the door, but it didn't open.

"Who is it?" His voice was shaky, and you puzzled over a response for a moment.

"My name is Miranda, I'm just here to talk. Is this a bad time?"

"Who are you?" The doorknob rattled, but the door remained shut.

"Um, I'm… Miranda. I'm twenty two, I was just curious what you do out-" The door nearly slammed you in the face as he pointed a flashlight to your eyes, a snarl on his lips. The light burns, but he only leaves it on for a moment before being satisfied by whatever he did (or didn't) see.

You regret coming the moment he tugs you in by your wrist, reminders of stranger danger floating around in your head. You can still feel the wind and snow swirling at your back, but he just tugs his coat tighter around him with his free hand as he narrows his eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"I… well, I haven't seen Fiddleford in town for nearly a week, and I've always been sort of interested in science, and… are you all right?" It had taken until you'd seen him in flickering light, but he didn't look very well. There were bags under his eyes, and his skin was sallow and sagging, as if he'd lost weight.

"That's a good one. You just happened to show up when you've never wanted to be here before?" His nails dig into your wrist as he flips your hand over, tugging off your glove and shining his flashlight at your palm. He yanks it up to eye level, and you stumble forward, barely managing to avoid crashing into him. "Fingerprints look legitimate…"

"Seriously, are you okay? It's freezing in here, you don't have any heat on. Is that a dinosaur skull? Why were you looking at my-"  
"Shh, he's- what did you say your name was? Never mind, it's not important. You shouldn't be here, why are you here?"

His eyes are twitching, and he looks like your friend after she stayed up two days straight during a particularly strenuous final. "I was just… wondering, is all. About your fancy science stuff. I saw you chasing after pixies once, so… you like Gravity Falls for the supernatural stuff too, right? I have some stories-"

He sets his hands on your shoulders, squeezing in the fabric of your coat. "Listen. You don't want to be involved with me, with this. Leave, and don't come back. Tell everyone to stay away. This is dangerous, awful, it's a mess, it's a mess-" He's started shaking, and you set a hand on top of one of his. Something feels weird- does he have too many fingers?- but it seems to calm him down, at least a little.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. I'll… I'll go."

"Yes. Yes, go, that's a good idea." He lets go, raking a hand through his hair. It's slick, but more like he hadn't washed it in a few days than the shine of hair gel.

He ushers you out the door, and it isn't until it clicks shut that you realize a piece of paper is stuck to your boot. The wet snow has made half of it indecipherable, but the parts that are are scribbles of some kind of were-cougar. It's apparently a cougar that turns into a much bigger cougar on full moons.

Huh. You'd never seen that before.  
_

It was two days before you found yourself on his doorstep again. You hadn't even gotten his name yet, but… he'd looked like he needed help. Badly. You'd been in that sort of place before, that place when you didn't want to admit you felt like shit and didn't care about life anymore, and if you could help someone out of there, you damn well were going to do it.

You had macaroni and cheese in a thermos. It wasn't very classy but it would have probably melted your mom's tupperware so it was better than nothing.

You knocked twice. "It's me again!"

"Who?"

"Miranda! I came a few days ago, you shined a light in my eyes?"

Something metal jangled before the door creaked open.

"What did… did I tell you to leave?"

"Yes, but I wanted to give you this." You hold out the thermos. "It has mac and cheese. I know it's not much, but it didn't look like you'd eaten."

He stares at you like you'd grown horns.

"You can look at my hands again, if you want."

"What do you care about hands?" His tone shoots to defensive almost immediately.

"Well, you wanted to see mine last time. Something about the fingerprints. I dunno what you were looking for."

He blinks before taking a step back, and you hear a series of crashes before he's pushing the door open the rest of the way. You take that as a cue to step in, nearly tripping over a cage that only went up just past your ankle. "Woah!"

"Ah, my- my apologies, I wasn't expecting- it was- nothing."

Turning slightly to your left to the stairs shows three chairs- all different- and another cage twice the size of the one that almost made your teeth get acquainted with the wooden floorboards. Either someone had had a fit or he'd been blocking the door and needed to chuck them away to let you in.

"I know I'm probably intruding but… I noticed you didn't look so hot, last time. I know mac and cheese always makes me feel better."

You hold out the thermos again, and he takes it from you, setting it on a small table littered with printer paper.

"Oh. Um. Thank you." He stares at you for a few moments, scanning you up and down. Even in a puffy coat, you feel almost naked. "Why did you do that for me? I don't know you. Is this a trick?"

"I… I've been where you are." You swallow, about to continue, but then he suddenly smiles. It doesn't look like he's happy- his eyes are watering- but it shows off a chipped tooth and blood on his gums.

"You think you've been where I am? You know what- what I've been through? You… you couldn't possibly…!" His mouth extends to the point where you wince for his cheek muscles, but this feels like a horror movie. You take a step backwards as he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and something that's both a sob and a distorted laugh forces its way out of his throat. His body starts shaking again, and you raise a hand to your own mouth.

Whatever is wrong with him, if he doesn't get help he is going to hurt himself. You know this for certain- and you knew a panic attack when you saw one.

"Hey, it's okay. Breathe." You can't force your feet to move closer, but you can ball your hands into fists and shove them into your coat pockets. "It's all right, let it out, take a breath." He's still wide-eyed, looking at something above you and a million miles away. "With me, in one thousand, two one thousand, out one thousand, two one thousand."

He squeezes his eyes closed, nodding his head far faster then the pace you're setting, but you try again. "In one thousand, two one thousand, out one thousand, two one thousand. Focus on my voice. Just think of the snow falling outside. It's nice and even and slow. Focus on your hands, squeeze your fingers, focus on how it feels against your palm… okay, let them go."

He took another deep breath before opening his eyes again. The right one looks more bloodshot than the left but they're both more grounded than they were before.

"…Thank you."

You force up a smile even though your heart is pounding. "You're welcome. I've had panic attacks before, I know they majorly suck. That's part of why I came- I wanted to know if I could help."

"Help?" He wraps his arms around himself, and you notice the elbow is burnt off the left sleeve.

"Yeah, help. I don't want anybody going through that junk alone, after I did." You take a few steps forward, and your boots crinkle more paper.

He takes a few steps back as you move, so you stop.

"No, no. No, this is a trick, I can't trust you, can't trust anyone, can't-"

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." You have a sudden idea. "How about I prove it?"

"How?"

You grab the thermos of noodles. "How about we split it? You know it's not poisoned or whatever, I'll know you're eating. That's the first thing I know I stopped, anyway- eating properly."

He stares at you for a solid fifteen seconds before nodding slowly.

"Fine."

Over the next week, you learn new information bit by bit. His name is Stanford. He's been in Gravity Falls for six years now. He came here because it's one of the weirdest places in the world, something you think is accurate and also really neat. You can't imagine the town without talking squirrels or the occasional wandering vampire.

He's done something bad. He refuses to specify what, or to let you past the living room, but considering every time you see him he's got a new bandage somewhere, he's still beating himself up for it.

Your suggestion that he go to the hospital for a few days nearly gets a fork in your neck so you decide to not mention it again.  
You're pleased that he's gained a tiny bit of color, but the bags under his eyes only continue to get deeper. There are always mugs half-filled with coffee scattered around, but if you ask how long it's been since he's slept, he simply waves it off, that he has too much work to do.

You never visit for long- he usually shoos you out within fifteen minutes, but by the third time, you've developed a routine- he gives you a code word at the end of one visit, and you'll say it the next so he knows it's you.

Unfortunately, you never really learn what he thinks some mysterious 'other you' with sinister intentions could be.

A particularly cloudy Thursday, when he answers the door he's got a creepy grin on his face and his glasses glint gold.

"Hey! Come in, come in! I'm so glad you're here, I've been _dying_ to show you something!"

He didn't even ask for the code word, but you step inside anyways. Maybe you were just dumb that way. Maybe you'd started to like the way his hands darted about, and how he looked when he explained something, lighting up and showing you a hint of what he'd used to be.

Maybe it was something more than just trying to prevent the continuation of a spiral like your own.

"What do you want to-" you start, but Stanford shoved something that smelled rancid into your face. It took a moment for your crossed eyes to adjust, and you saw fur and blood and white squirming maggots. Upon stumbling back, you realized it was a deer head, with the antlers replaced with a crown of rabbit's ears. Knives stabbed into both eyeballs, and blood drooled down the cheeks of the animal.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to look away. "That's… interesting. Very dark."

"Oh, that's nothing! Wanna see what I did to myself?" You nearly vomit as he drops the deer head (that hits the wood with a meaty THWAUMP) and rips back his sleeve to show fresh burns, ragged cuts zigzagging across them like a sick facsimile of stitches on a baseball.

"Wh-what…"

"I'm a bit out there, see!" His grin grew wider. "It's not safe, y'know- one day I'm just curled up on a puddle of my own tears, the next I'm doing taxidermy on live animals! It's a toss-up, curly, and I think you might wanna stay away! That sound good?"

You nod mutely, stomach still turning with bile. The blood from the deer splattered unto your pants and shoes.

"Toodles!" He roughly shoves you through the door and off the porch, slamming it hard enough to make a single bird that had braved the winter fly off with an indignant 'CAW!'.

You shiver in the snow for a moment before coming to your senses and _bolting_.

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A/N: Reviews are my sustenance. Feed meeeee


	2. Chance Encounter

A/N: In which he gets coffee, and she gets answers. Sort of.

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It had been approximately a week since the… incident.

The 'he's gone completely off his rocker' incident.

You hadn't been to his house since, for the simple fact that while you'd been able to rationalize visiting before as helping someone who was going through something you could sympathize with, the incident was something you had no hope of helping with. You'd never gone that violent, that off how you usually were. You got quiet, not loud, and he acted like a completely different person.

You'd been trying to forget him, the past week. Forget the little way his lips quirked up when he laughed, how his glasses tilted whenever he moved too fast and he had a funny little way of moving them up and down and then up again whenever he adjusted them. Forget how you'd only seen him at his worst and still couldn't help but be captivated.

It hadn't been going very well. Like it or not, he'd made an impression that sunk deep into your gut and tied your intestines in a square knot.

Then, you saw him in the Dusk to Dawn while getting a slurpie. He was still wearing the same trench coat, and quite possibly the same shirt, though it had a new red stain on it.

He was purchasing a loaf of bread, two jars of peanut butter, and about fifteen pounds of instant coffee.

Yeah, that seemed about right. You had two choices: Stay were you were, stay quiet, and hope he wouldn't see you. It was the better choice, the safer one. Curiosity killed the cat, after all, and in this case, it may be literally.

Or...

"Hey!"

He turned, and nearly dropped his bags.

"Mir-Mir-Mir-ah, fuck. Miranda?" His voice was sandpaper, as if he'd recently been screaming. The bags under his eyes had gotten deeper, and you knew instantly that he was the way you'd met him. Tired and paranoid but not about to pull out a butcher knife.

"Language, dearie." Ma said with a soft smile.

"Apologies, m'am," he said without turning back to look at her. "Are you- what happened? What did he-what did I do?"

You bit your lip, then motioned to the door. He rubbed his eyes, sliding his knuckles under his glasses, then scooped up his bags and followed. There was a little metal bench just outside, but it was decidedly temporary- it wasn't bolted down, and you could already see where it had blown around in the winter winds.

You plopped down first, a puff of snow swirling up. You patted the seat next to you, but he stayed standing.

"You don't know what you did?" You hadn't meant for it to come out accusatory, but you were scared and confused and although you'd lived in Gravity Falls for quite some time, you'd never seen anything rattle a person as much as whatever had happened to him.

"No. It's a- a very long story." His hair rustled in the snow, and more than anything he looked as if he was about to throw up.

"One I assume you don't want to tell me."

He nodded.

"You shoved a bloody deer head in my face, showed off a burn you'd left on your arm along with some cuts, and then warned me to stay away."

His skin went from plain pale to bone-white.

"Ah. That… that would have been rather terrifying, I'd imagine." The grip he has on the bag tightens, and you can hear the paper rustle.

"Yeah. It was. That's why I haven't been back."

"That's understandable." Stanford shuffled his feet a bit. "Would you believe that it… it wasn't me?"

"Was it a ghost? I know sometimes they're pests, but usually they don't harm their hosts…"

"No, it's- oh, in a way it is. I made some bad decisions and now sometimes I'm not myself." He finally decided to sit down, but kept his death grip on his grocery bag. "I can beat him, if I stay awake."

"Is that why you look like garbage?" You slapped a hand over your mouth- it had just slipped out.

He stares at you, before suddenly starting to laugh. It wasn't demented, it was more like the laugh that comes during a sleepover when it's four in the morning and everything is funny. "That is… yes, that's a large part of it."

"Too bad you can't just toss some virgin blood at it to make it go away." You find yourself grinning. "It's not nearly as hard to find once you realize it just needs to be fresh, and not necessarily come from a virgin."

"Really? That would have helped tremendously two years ago, when I ran into the rogue gnomes that live in the deepest part of the forest."

"Well, now you know."

"Yes, now I know." He smiled back, and you can't help but notice the way snow drips off of the wild curls atop his head and unto his nose.

"I know this might sound a little nuts but… is there any way I could still come back, and know it's you and not… whatever that thing was?"

He went quiet for a moment, smile falling away. "Are you sure you want to? I don't want you getting hurt."

Caught between safety and something warm oozing in your guts, you make the stupid decision.

"I'll start bringing my car so I can book it if you start carving pentagrams into the walls."

"It's the eyes." He points at his own, which are currently so bloodshot they look like something straight out of a horror movie poster. "They turn slightly yellowed and become slitted like a cat's. Judging from how much my cheeks hurt, he smiles too much too. If I don't ask for the password, then leave." He raked a hand through his hair. "If he considered you enough of a threat to make you leave, it may be a good idea to have you around sometimes."

"I can help, with whatever research you were doing. I read fast." You lean forward just enough to see that he has a smattering of freckles on his cheeks you never noticed in the low light of his house. His blush from the cold brings them out.

"Yes, that would be good…" Stanford's voice trails off, before he turns to look you straight in the eyes. "You have to promise me one thing, though."

"Sure, what?"

"If you have any dreams involving triangles with top hats, don't listen to a word they say, and don't ever shake their hand."

If this was anywhere other than Gravity Falls, you would have questioned it, but as is, you simply nod.

"Deal."

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A/N: I love reviews, and if you have any critique I'd be glad to hear it!


	3. A Visit in a Dream

Your dreams usually are pretty incoherent. Sure, they make sense at the time, with schools morphing into zoos as you float out of your body and view the shifting scene as if it's just a movie. Mom's a werewolf wagging her tail as she kisses Dad's cheek, and the public pool is made of pink jello.

It's strange in hindsight, but it's just a jumble of barely-connected thoughts your brain's dumping together into soup. There isn't much behind them besides your brain getting rid of the junk from the day.

Most of the time, that is.

Tonight, though, something's different. You're floating in the sky, a gigantic book below you like a magic carpet, and miscellaneous objects are scattered around, resting on clouds. Usually your dreams begin normally and spiral into the absurd, but this one is starting strange. You flop down on top of the book and let your arm dangle down, fingertips brushing fluffy cloud that feels like snow.

"Hey there, Curly!" You sit up and turn around to see- exactly what Stanford warned you about. A triangle in a top hat and a bow tie is floating with one hand on his cane, which is itself balancing on a neatly stacked pile of gold bars. He looks like an acrobat. "Nice subconscious you got here!"

At his words, the clouds surrounding the both of you begin to darken from fluffy white to the gray of a dead tree.

"Stanford said not to listen to whatever you said."

The triangle jumped up, now balancing on the cane with his left foot. "Sure he did, but are you really gonna listen to that nerd over someone who can offer you whatever you want? Name's Bill, Bill Cipher, and I'm here to make your dreams come true."

"You can give me whatever I want? Right." You stand up, but barely bite back a scream as the book you're standing on flips the page and shoves you off. Falling lasts only a moment before your butt lands in the cap of a medicine bottle, and Bill has settled to sitting on the cloud, the cane having disappeared entirely.

"Really! In fact, let's see what's working in that brain of yours, hmm?" He snapped his fingers, and both of you are snapped to-

Oh no. Oh no no no no-

 _"And that's where I found the thumb. It was a real pain to haul it back, let me tell you, but it does set the mood, doesn't it?"_

 _He's smiling genuinely for the first time since you'd met, and you want nothing more than to keep him that way._

 _"Yeah, it is really neat." Your hand hovers over his, but when he lifts it to reach for his mug of lukewarm coffee you snatch yours away._

 _"I should have started talking to the townspeople more before now. You've grown up with the paranormal oddities here. The strangest I saw growing up was a mutated sea turtle with two heads."_

 _"Oh, that's interesting! Did it talk?"_

 _He laughs. "No, it didn't talk. But see, there! You just assumed that it would be intelligent, from what you know of animals around here. That's fascinating. I could have done my entire thesis simply on how being around the supernatural changes one's perspective."_

 _"Well, I'd be glad to tell you anything you want."_

 _He opened his mouth, but then closed it, eyes dropping to his lap._

"Oooh, hit a sore spot there. Wonder what he's so worried about? I can see what you want, though!" He smacked your head with the cane- where had it come from, hadn't he vanished it before?- and then waved his hand.

This time, the image swirled out of the clouds around you. A waterfall of blood poured out, and at a spash something below whimpered, before Bill rolled his eye. "Darn reception." Another handwave, and the blood evaporated into red mist.

The clouds shifted again, twisting like a draining bathtub into…

 _"I **told** you it's a long story." Stanford snapped. "I'm a mess and I don't know why you bother!"_

 _"I bother because I want to help." You set a hand on his shoulder, and he turns away, leaving your hand to trail down his back and fall limp._

"Let's go deeper, shall we? How did you feel?" Bill waved again, and the clouds drain again, creating an image within the memory.

An image of you pulling him into a hug, tighter, hands creeping closer together, him lifting his chin to gently press your lips together as your fingers interlock and-

"Stop!" Even in this odd dreamspace you still flush, and Bill's glow flares, the desires and complicated feelings woven into the memory twisting your chest even as the images vanish with a 'pop!'.

"Oh, it's so easy to rile you humans up." He wipes at his eye, flicking away a teardrop that causes a nearby fairy to explode.

"Cut to the chase. What do you want?"

"Well, I want lots of things! A choir of bears, a pet made entirely of teeth, blue moon ice cream. But from you, I'd like a little help with a project of mine! And in return, I can get you what you want. Or more specifically, who you want." Out of a nebulous cluster of stars Stanford stepped out, smiling and holding out his hand. His clothes have been wiped clean of the grease and dirt and blood, and his eyes are sparkling and bright.

"Thank you for everything. Would you like to stay over longer? Maybe we could watch a movie… or something more?" He sounds hopeful and his face is soft and heavenly, hair gently fluttering.

You push yourself up out of the cap, almost in a trance as you reach for him, before the words of the real Stanford slam into your mind.

 _"Don't listen to a word they say, and don't **ever** shake their hand."_

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Your hand drops, and you cross both arms across your chest.

"Come on, Curly, it's not that hard of a choice! I'm a deity, I just want a little help." He floats closer. "Besides, Fordsy could really use you. Hell knows he needs someone to keep him in line and taking care of himself. If he goes on like this much longer he's gonna pass out one day and not wake up, and nobody wants that, right? I'm not just helping you, I'll be giving him a second chance What can I say, I'm a nice guy! You get what you want, he gets what he needs. Two for the price of one."

He duplicates, and the second Bill speaks. "You'll have someone who knows what you've been through."

A third Bill. "All you'll have to do is press a few buttons."

A fourth. "It's a once in a lifetime offer, and it's easy to tell he already likes you! I'll just give him the courage to admit it!"

All four merge back into one, and he morphs into Stanford, and speaks with his voice, blue flames blooming from his six-fingered hand. "I want to help you. All I need is a little favor. What do you say?"

You swallow, heart thumping.

He's lying. It can't be that easy, and if Stanford was that worried he must be bad, and if you're right he's the one that threatened you.

"No."

"What did you say?" His hand falls, and his eyes narrow. They look infected, yellow veins creeping through the sclera.

"I said no. I don't trust you."

With a 'pop!' he's back to his triangular self. "Well, can't win them all! Here's something to remember me by!" Your old stuffed unicorn appears in your arms, mouth full of ragged teeth made of glass, and bites off your hand. Gore begins to sluggishly ooze out and the bone lets out a SNAP.

"Toodles!" He snaps his fingers, and the cloud you're standing on disappears, leaving you falling with a scream until you sit up with a start.

Your face is covered in sweat and the clock says it's 4 am. You don't get back to sleep that night.

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A/N: I love feedback!


	4. Let's Talk

A/N: THIS IS LITERALLY WHY I WROTE THIS ENTIRE THING. TO GIVE FORD A HUG. This is the one I've edited and fussed over the most, because I want it to be perfect. Enjoy, and please leave feedback!

* * *

You count your breaths as your fingers drum on the dashboard of your pickup truck.

Stanford Pines is a dangerous man. You knew that the second he pulled you inside and stammered paranoid nonsense moments after you'd met.

But now two weeks later, after a visit from some kind of dream triangle monster with the name of an accountant, you are well aware that it's not paranoid nonsense, it's paranoid _sense_.

 _One, two._ Deep breaths. He's someone who needs help.

 _Three, four._ He's put trust in you, and it's very likely he hasn't done so with anyone else.

 _Five, six._ You'll regret it for the rest of your life if he ends up a suicide case in the Gossiper and you could have prevented it.

 _Seven, eight._ Your seatbelt unclicking sounds like your father's shotgun going off in the near-silence of the abandoned road Stanford lives down.

 _Nine, ten._ Your gloved fingers linger on the door handle but in one smooth motion you press down and push out.

Your boots crunch in the snow, and you grunt, hauling an old space heater with you. If Bill didn't get him, hypothermia was going to, and that at least was a relatively easy thing to fix. It had been in the basement, and was a bit rusty, so neither of your parents had minded you taking it.

Upon reaching the porch, you set it down with a 'thump' and knock on the door twice. "Hello!"

"Who is- oh. Password?"

"Scampfire ashes, I think it was?"

"Come in." Stanford fiddles with the lock for a minute before pulling the door open, and you head for the living room. He's cleared a tiny space on the loveseat he'd admitted to only purchasing because it was on sale, and you settle down on the left side of it, scooting away the heater with your foot and clicking it on.

"You're freezing your butt off out here, so I thought I'd bring this. It's battery powered so it'll be fine for a while."

Stanford stares at you for a moment, before sitting on the giant's thumb and burying his face in his hands.

"Woah, are you- is there something wrong?" A beat. "More than usual, anyways."

"I don't _understand_." His voice is strained, in the way you recognize someone is about to start crying but is doing their best to avoid it. "You've been nothing but kind when I'm such a disaster. Why? You said you knew how it felt. Is it pity? I don't need-"

"I want to help. That's all. Stanford, you're going half out of your mind trying to fix whatever mistake you made. You're kind of a mess, but that's not a disaster to me." You smile, but it's weak. "You said I could help you with your research?"

"I… yes, I did, give me a moment." He makes his way around the clutter, over to a pile of boxes that were haphazardly jammed full of decrepit scrolls and books that were yellower than a rotted body. The cover falls off of one as he picks it up, and he heaves a sigh. He grunts, grabbing a few and setting them down on the arm of the chair. You begin to flip through them, and wince at how faded the writing is.

Nonetheless, you said you'd help, so that's what you'll damn well do. "What am I looking for?"

"Information on the Eye of Providence, or other symbols related to it. Possible weaknesses would be fantastic, but anything would be good at this point." He's already surrounded himself with scrolls, and within moments he's reciting something that sounds like Latin to himself.

The clock ticks as the minutes slip by, and you slide off your coat. The space heater makes the house, while still pretty creepy, much more hospitable, and while you don't see much about any Eye you do learn that there was a lot of study about how much language cavemen knew. When the clock strikes two, you speak up.

"The triangle guy, Bill, showed up in my dream last night."

His gaze shoots up, and his eyes are indeed red, but he nearly falls on his face as he slips off the thumb while trying to grab you. He ends up on one knee, hands gripping the sides of your arms and head bent. "I knew it, I knew letting you stay around was a bad-"

"I said no."

Eyes the color of damp sand snap up to meet yours. "…What?"

"I can see how he could be appealing, but because of your warning, I told him I didn't want what he was offering. Because I met you, I knew to say no." He stands up, still holding your sleeves. From how tight his fingers are curled, it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

"But- but if you hadn't met me, he would have never approached you-"

"You don't know that. I'm a smart lady, maybe he would have looked for something else." You pull in a deep breath, a chill icing your lungs. "I know you feel like everything you do will just make things worse, and I know how hard it must have been to let me come here." Your fingers rest on the rubber band around your wrist you'd snapped until your skin was raw more times than you can count. "You're a brave man, Stanford Pines."

He swallows before sitting down next to you. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the heater, and you can't help but notice the freckles again, even on his sunken cheeks.

"I made a massive mistake. Bill… he offered me the chance to change the world." His hands are settled on his lap now, wringing against his pants. You can see the veins.

"You still can, but you can do it on your own terms." Your left hand moves to rest on top of both of his. "The world can seem like hell, but you're trying to fix your mess-up. Bill seemed like a pretty charming guy, you can't blame yourself for believing him. You wanted to make things better for everyone, right? That's not a bad thing. As long as you're still here, you've got a chance."

Your hips are already touching his, but you turn in order to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He stops moving for a moment, before turning and hugging you tighter than you've ever been hugged in your life. His chin rests on your shoulder, and yours on his. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, and you close your eyes.

"You're not a bad person. You can get through this." You're barely speaking above a whisper now, and a shudder makes you shiver as he holds back a sob.

"I don't deserve this." He mumbles, and your fingers tighten around the fabric of his trench coat.

" _No one_ deserves what's happening to you." You tug him closer, before taking a deep breath. "It might sound sappy, but I think we were meant to meet."

"What do you mean?"

With great reluctance, you pull away, grabbing both his hands and squeezing them. "I had bad depression. I never saw any point in living, from my late teens to last year. Everything seemed like a dull gray mess."

His head tilts ever so slightly, and his glasses move with it, an inch askew. He didn't fix them.

"Then, my mother forced me to see a counselor. I got help, and I learned just how important support is. Sometimes you have to kick yourself in the ass to get up in the morning, and sometimes you have to find someone willing to kick it for you."

Your hand lets go of his to adjust the glasses using the hinges. "I always wondered if she noticed before I offed myself for a reason- if there was something I was supposed to do."

His eyes were wide, and you pull him into another hug. He doesn't resist, and all you can hear is the thump of his heartbeat. It's faster than yours.

"I need to stop him. I let him trick me because I was blind." His voice still shakes. "If it kills me, then fine. It's my fault."

You angle yourself so the two of you are pressed together as much as possible, sharing your warmth, because he's so, so cold. "You're not alone anymore. Maybe you messed up, but there's nowhere to go but up, right? Things will work out, Stanford. Can't kill a demon if you're in the grave yourself."

He takes a breath you can feel against your chest. "Call me Ford."

He clung to you, and you clung to him, for longer than you cared to keep track of. The tick of time passing was muted under the buzzing in your head and the soft breaths next to your ear. At some point, you thought you heard a 'thank you', but it could have been your imagination.

He smelled of sweat and dust and coffee and fear, but in that moment, somehow you knew that things were going to be okay.


	5. Confessions

A/N: I'm finishing up chapter 8 for the ao3 post of this and remembered I was behind on the ffnet post so here y'all go

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Ford was the one to pull away from the hug. It made sense- the guy probably hadn't had any physical contact with people in weeks besides you, so there was only so long he'd be able to stand it.

He coughs into his hand, cheeks flushed. "Well. I… thank you. I needed that."

A hand raises to the back of your neck, and your gaze drops. Somehow, you feel that if he saw your eyes he'd know exactly how you felt.

"So." Drumming his fingers against his thighs, he swishes saliva around in his mouth, clearly as uncomfortable as you are. "Um. Hmm. Just out of… out of curiosity, what did Bill offer you?"

"What do you mean?" Your hands curl up on the bottom of your sweater. "I already said-"

"No, I know you declined his offer, but I don't have many other examples of people he's offered his… _services_."

"What did he give _you_?" Your attempt to redirect the conversation is incredibly obvious, but he sighs and answers anyways.

"Knowledge, like I said. He's a being who's lived billions of years, and by a partnership with him, I could create something that could explain the mysteries of the universe. In return he'd get to use my body, although he spun it so he'd mostly use it to help me." He lifted his hand , and you could see white burn patches on the pads of his fingertips. "Needless to say, it was a lie." Ford turned to you. "Any information about how Bill works outside of how he interacted with me would be immensely useful."

His eyes are still tired, but there's a spark in them now.

"Well… well, he… no, it's dumb." You shake your head. You're not going to let it spill when the guy just let you close, it could ruin things.

"I really do want to know!" He leans forward, and one of his hands rests on your leg.

"He…" You swallow. Maybe if you're vague enough he'll lay off. Even so, though, your voice pitches up. "He offered me a person."

Ford blinked at that. "A person? Like a sacrifice? "

"No, a… someone that I wanted to get to know better. If I helped him, he'd make my relationship with them better." For a moment, you were terrified he'd figure it out, but he just cracked a nervous grin.

"I'd imagine I'm the exception, then. That's the normal thing people want, right?" Something cracked in his voice. "People want to be closer to others, but I just wanted to elevate myself, make-"

"No, no, you're not doing this right now." You grabbed his arms, focusing your eyes on his. "Bill is a jerk who's good at tricking people. Lots of people want knowledge or power or whatever. Half of history is people doing terrible things for knowledge of power. It's not a unique problem. You're twenty-seven, right? You're allowed to screw up."

"Not on this scale-"

"Nope. Seal that thought up and toss it in the lake so the gobblewonker can eat it. You fucked up, you're going to fix it, you'll worry about freaking out later, and I am going to help you."

The side of his mouth quirked up, pushing what was left of his cheek fat up and squinting his eye. "They must be lucky."

"What?" Your grip on his arms loosens. "Who must be lucky?"

"Whoever it is Bill wanted to help you fix things up with. You're pretty good at this." He gently pulled himself away from you. "Was it someone you liked, or a… a relative?"

"It was… it was someone I liked."

"Oh." It's hard to tell if he's relieved or more intrigued by that. "I would offer advice, but I don't have much experience, that was usually my br-" He cut himself off, and there was a pause. "Just once, really. Something short with- no, that doesn't matter."

"Did the elusive Ford just admit something about his past?"

"I did not." Ford turns his head, but his ears are tipped red.

"Something short- did you have a fling with someone?"

"I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Come on, I told _you_ something. Promise I won't judge."

His fingers grip the fabric of his coat. "It's not a big deal."

"Well, it's interesting to me." You shrug. "Was it a guy or something? Because honestly I wouldn't mind if that was-"

"It was my roommate." Ford blurted out, then slapped a hand to his mouth. His eyes were wide. You reach up, and set your smaller palm on top of his hand.

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone. I… I kind of like girls sometimes, too. Never got a chance to do anything, but-"

"It was a little longer than just a fling. We dated for a year before he met his wife. They're… they had a child, and now he won't even talk to me, and she's called me more than once, asking for him. I might have ruined his life."

Something clicks. "Wait are you talking about- _Fiddleford_?"

Ford's head drops, which is all the answer you need. "Oh, I'm so sorry. He seems like such a nice guy, I can see why you liked him."

A weak smile spreads across his face. "Yes, he was… quite interesting. A genius in his own right. I didn't deserve him, he put up with a lot to be my assistant."

You decided not to mention the last time you saw him he'd torn some of his hair out. It probably wouldn't help Ford's guilt complex.

"Well, I'm glad you had someone." Biting you lip, you scoot a little closer. "And… and now you have me."

He turns to you, and the smile actually reaches his eyes. "I suppose I do." You barely have a few seconds to enjoy it before it drops. "But… I'm still putting you in danger by being around you. All that needs to happen is I get too tired, and then he could hurt you."

"I don't care."

"You're being reckless." He tries to pull away, but you grab his wrist. You were settling this once and for all.

"I repeat- I don't care. If I cared I would have moved out of this place years ago. I said I wanted to help and I'm sticking by it."

"But why? It's my mess, and I need to fix it alone. Bill is my problem, he must not think you're that big a threat if all he offered you was a crush-"

"He offered me _you_!" Your heart skips a beat, and you can feel Ford's thudding in his wrist, the pace picking up.

"M-me?"

Slowly, you let him go, mumbling numbly, "Yeah. Yeah, you." Whoops.

"I- I don't understand…"

"You think I _do_?" Raking a hand over the top of your head and through your hair, you press your legs together, wishing very much you could just shrink into nonexistence.

"You _like_ me. You like _me_." Ford says it in the same awestruck way you'd heard him talking about aliens. He's staring at you like you're a specimen in a lab, and you pull in on yourself further. "You- even with all of this?" He waves a hand around to the general chaos that is his house.

"Even with all of this." You draw in a deep breath. "I don't know what it is about you. Maybe it's just wanting to help you. Maybe it's because you're new and interesting and I guess kind of dangerous. Maybe it's just your eyes or your hair or anything else that makes up your body. It's something I can't quite figure out." The only reason you're not flushing is that the heater had already reddened your cheeks and neck. "But I don't care about this whole godforsaken mess you're in, because I'm not leaving until I can help you get out of it."

There's silence, and you're afraid to look up and meet his gaze- at least until he sets a finger under your chin and pushes your face up to see a lopsided smile.

"Do you know what I'm thinking right now?"

"…No."

"I'm thinking, 'if my fifteen year old self saw this, he'd be going nuts.' " You can't help but stare, and a giggle bubbles out of your throat.

"That's all you're going to say? That as a nerdy kid you never thought a girl could like you?" Your laugh is echoed by one of his own, and even as his hand raises up to cover his mouth, shoulders hunched, the sound is new and inviting.

"It's true! I never- and look at me now!" He waved his arm around again like it was a windsock. "My house is a disaster, I'm sharing my body with a demon, I haven't slept in four days, and _this_ is when the girl comes knocking at my door!" He starts snickering."If this is a trick or dramatic irony..."

"It's not, I promise." You can't stop laughing long enough for it to sound sincere, but neither of you really care.

For a good two minutes, there's the tick of the clock, the sounds of half-coherent laughter, and the warmth of two bodies and one space heater humming away.

Some part of you is afraid to ask what he thinks of you now, but the rest is focusing on him looking lighter than he has since you'd met.

No matter what happens now, you'll be there all the way.


End file.
